Darkness and Light
by ashleewframe
Summary: Captain Swan Superhero AU. Emma Mills has been contacted by the Superheroes Guild after she saves a woman from being mugged in an alleyway. Killian Jones, reporter and former villain, has been asked by his friend David to find out more about their new ward, Emma Swan. Simultaneously, he is trying to find out more about the up-and-coming heroine, the Golden Swan.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Consequences of Utilizing Darkness and Light**

It was a cool, foggy night. The residents of Mist Haven—a relaxed town in Maine, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for two young parents, who went by the names of Mary Margaret Charming and David Charming. Those weren't their real names, of course, but they were close enough that no one would suspect them of being tied to Marion Magdalena Nolan—also known as 'White Out'—and Daniel Nolan—or 'The Shepherd'. Two of the most famous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) superheroes in superhero history, living in the sluggish town of Mist Haven.

Lulling their newborn baby to sleep.

The baby smacked her lips sleepily as she gave in to her exhaustion and fell into a dream. Mary Margaret smiled softly, cradling the infant closer to her chest. Six months old. She was only six months old, but she'd already made Mary Margaret and David the happiest parents around. At six months, both she and David had already developed their powers. But Emma was normal, and the couple couldn't have been happier.

And they couldn't have been more fatigued. Because, with their baby, it was finally time for them to put away their masks and give up the life of saving the world. It didn't matter that the Evil Queen was still at large, still terrorizing citizens of the world, stealing and killing and ruining lives. They had to think of their daughter.

So they packaged away their costumes in the late hours of the night, and went to sleep, dreaming peacefully of their daughter.

* * *

It was a cool, foggy night. The residents of Storybrooke—a relaxed town in Maine, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for the town's mayor, who went by the name of Regina Mills. That wasn't her real name, of course, but it was close enough that no one would suspect her of being tied to Reyna Millerton—also known as the Evil Queen. One of the most notorious and infamous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) of villains in villain history, mayor of the sluggish town of Storybrooke.

Thinking of the one thing that might possibly give her life meaning.

She'd tried, many times, to get pregnant by herself, but had always taken a morning after pill the next day. She couldn't very well terrorize the world while dealing with a pregnancy. And her peers—the Queens of Darkness, they called themselves—would take her place as the most notorious and infamous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) of villains in villain history in an instant, and she couldn't very well have that. She had a reputation to uphold.

So Regina scanned articles of births in Maine, until she finally found one that was close enough to make a trip to, but far enough away that no one would suspect Regina's new daughter to be connected to—Regina glanced at the article again—the Charming's missing daughter.

Regina smiled. She'd always wanted a daughter.

* * *

It was a cool, foggy morning. The residents of Riverton—a relaxed town in Massachusetts, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for the young son of a fisherman. He lay in bed, restless, his older brother curled around him protectively. His name was Killian Jones, and this was his real name. He was not notorious in any way, was simply the dark-haired toddler who followed after Liam Jones wherever his older brother went.

He was playing with the shadows around him. Where he wanted them to go, they went, and what he wanted them to do, they did. Killian had been doing this for as long as he could remember—though he could not remember very far—and had made a game of it. How long could he keep it up before the shadows played with _him_?

On this cool, foggy morning in Riverton, it did not take very long. The shadows were waning, but the fog was drawing them closer to Killian and his brother than they had ever been allowed to go. The fog was spilling through the cracked window, reaching, seeking, ready to touch Killian and his brother as soon as Killian lost control.

And he did lose control. But he was not the one who paid for it.

Killian didn't notice when his brother's arms tightened around him, didn't notice when they started getting cold. He only drifted off, finally, and slept soundly without the nightmares that came when the shadows decided to play with him.

The next morning, he woke up to his father's screams.

* * *

 **Seventeen Years Later**

Growing up, Killian Jones never really understood the fact that his powers had killed his brother. He'd been too young to understand, too young to truly comprehend the gravity of what he'd done. His father never mentioned anything, though he'd had his suspicions, and had never treated Killian different afterwards. So Killian went on with his life, none the wiser that his playing with the shadows had ended Liam's life.

It wasn't until Milah, Killian's fiancée, spent the night in his arms in his apartment that Killian truly understood what a menace he was.

He'd never liked the nightmares that came after he exercised his power—never liked how heavy he felt for days afterwards, weighed down by the darkness. But it only lasted a short while, and it gave him such a thrill to use his talent that he'd always just said 'screw the consequences' and played with the shadows anyways.

It wasn't the first time Milah had spent the night, but it was the night that Killian had decided to show her what he could do. It would either make or break their relationship, and Killian had faith that Milah would stick with him, even after knowing the truth.

And he'd been right, reveling in the excitement and joy she'd experienced after watching Killian's shadow-play. When they'd fallen to sleep, Killian had drifted under with a smile plastered to his face, unaware that his fiancée would become his second victim.

It wasn't until Milah's cause of death had come back that she'd been scared to death that Killian realized _he_ was the problem.

Four months later, Killian moved to Boston, intent to leave his past behind him, intent to atone for his sins.

* * *

Growing up, Emma Mills had to walk on eggshells around her mother. Most of the time, she didn't know what to say to her, and what she did say was always wrong. She knew her mother loved her—Regina had _chosen_ to be her mother, and that counted for something, right?

It did count for something, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to keep Emma in the stagnant town of Storybrooke after she graduated high school and turned eighteen. She knew she would visit, but in the meantime she needed to figure things out for herself—needed to figure out who she was, and why she was…well, the way she was.

She left in the middle of the night— _not running away_ , she told herself, _just leaving in a way that will keep my mother from keeping me from leaving_. She packed a change of clothes, some cash, a toothbrush, and food in her backpack, hopped in a yellow bug that she'd easily broken into, and left without a second thought.

Not knowing where to head, she finally ended up in Boston, Massachusetts.

It took Emma a day and a half to get a job as an intern at the police station. She'd always been interested in law enforcement, so it was lucky for her that the Chief of Police, David Charming took one look at her and decided that they needed an intern.

It took Emma three weeks to settle in to her new apartment, where she'd been generously offered lodging with David Charming and his wife, Mary Margaret Charming, on three conditions; that she agreed to apply to Boston University for the fall, that she not bring any boys over, and that she consider them her friends, not just her boss and the boss's wife. They'd been easy enough terms to agree to, so three months later Emma found herself taking several different classes at Boston University—she'd gotten a full scholarship—and generally just enjoying her new life.

She often thought of her mother, and thought of calling her, but then she would decide against it. If she told her mother where she was and what she was doing, Regina would drag her straight back to Storybrooke. So, instead, Emma stayed under the radar for four blissfully long months.

The months would not remain blissfully under the radar for very much longer.

* * *

 _ **Now**_

Emma was exhausted. It had been a long day at school; she'd taken two exams, and had had to stand in front of her classmates to do a presentation on Byzantine art history. She was extremely thankful that it was a Thursday, because she didn't have to go to work on Thursdays, and could go straight home. Mary Margaret would be waiting at home with a cup of cinnamon hot chocolate and a Disney movie—it had been their Thursday and Sunday ritual ever since Mary Margaret learned that Emma's mother had never let her watch any Disney movie's as a child.

She was lethargically hailing a cab, hoping that _someone_ would see her, when she heard it. It was quiet, almost nonexistent, but it was there; the sounds of a scuffle. Emma whirled around, looking for the source of the noise. It wasn't very crowded, and she must have been the only one who heard it—or the only one who _cared_ —because no one else seemed slightly concerned.

Following the noise to the alleyway behind the Grinning Goblin, an eclectic tattoo parlor, Emma finally saw the cause of the noise. A woman was being held by her neck, at least a foot of the ground, by a large man in dark clothes.

Emma was conflicted for two seconds. On the one hand, she wouldn't be able to fight off a man of that size by herself, and if she called the cops it would probably be too late by the time they arrived anyways. On the other hand, she could use her powers and— _incapacitate_ —the man in a split second…but her powers always turned on her, and she probably wouldn't get home in enough time to collapse unless she used them some more and worsened the after-effects for herself.

But when she heard the woman's strangled pleas for help, she knew her decision was made.

Sprinting into the alley, Emma checked to make sure there was no one else around, no one looking at her, before she raised her hands and called forth the sweet, sweet magic that lay dormant beneath her fingertips. It sang to her as the light flowed brilliantly through her hands, eager to please, ecstatic that she had finally used her power after nearly nine years of not touching the bubble of lightness that weighed down on her mind.

As the strands of thin white light danced towards the woman's attacker, Emma incited them to solidify, to become a physical attack.

Within a moment, the attacker was lying unconscious against the nearest dumpster.

Emma consoled the petrified woman, who thanked her profusely before hurrying off, not bothering to get Emma's name or even to look at her twice. It was for the better, this way—Emma could feel the light turning its attention from the unconscious man to Emma.

Emma sighed, took a deep breath, and focused, again, on her powers—this time forcing them to carry her home. This took up the most of her energy, and she'd probably end up regretting her decision to run home at the speed of light, but collapsing in her room was better than collapsing in an alleyway. Not that it mattered to her. However, one way she would be vulnerable and missed after the light took its penance, and the other way Mary Margaret and David would at least know where she was, eventually.

* * *

Emma fumbled with her key to get the door open, but couldn't manage it. Her fingers were shaking, her breath was coming too quickly, and the light was ready. A breath later, Emma vanished from sight.

* * *

Mary Margaret and David found her five and a half hours later, collapsed against the door. Emma had awoken as soon as she felt the other woman touch her shoulder, and stood up too quickly, felt the blood rush to her head. She saw a third figure standing awkwardly behind David, but had to close her eyes again as she fell back down.

Emma felt Mary Margaret steadying her, and a moment later she was in someone's arms—probably David's, since she doubted Mary Margaret would be able to carry her— as she was carried to the living room couch. There, she passed out again—more from exhaustion than anything else—just as a blanket was being wrapped around her shoulders.

* * *

 _ **Earlier that Day**_

 _Golden Swan Saves Woman_ _: Thursday afternoon behind the Grinning Goblin tattoo parlor, at the corner of Bagger and Thirty-Seventh, thirty-two year old pastry chef Carolina Johannes was saved by a mysterious woman described as "…graceful as a swan, with cool golden light surrounding her." Johannes told the Boston PD. Later, they found Johannes' attacker unconscious in the same alley Johannes was attacked in. Police have apprehended the suspect, though they've yet to release his identity, and he is being questioned. _

_Who is this Swan? Where has she come from? Will she be the next White or The Shepherd? You'll get the answers here first, in the Superhero Spotlight with Killian Jones._

Killian submitted the short article, to be printed in the Saturday paper, and went back to his desk to work on his blog. It didn't take him long to figure out that he would be getting no work done, however; thoughts of this Golden Swan were heavy in his mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? From Johannes' description, she'd been plainclothes, not a suited superhero at all. So why did she have powers, and where had she been hiding?

Killian intended to find out.

"Jones!" Killian looked up, and grinned. "You need to take back what you said in yesterday's blog about the Shepherd."

"David," Killian greeted the taller man. "Charming as always. May I ask what the problem is?"

David crossed his arms, frowning. He glanced around, saw that there was no one within earshot, and leaned close to Killian. His blue eyes were stern as he said "I never wore spandex, it was a poly-cotton blend."

Killian's grin widened. "Never said you wore spandex, mate—"

"The implication was there, _mate,_ " retorted David.

"—nevertheless, I can't take back my statement. Number one rule of journalism; always tell the truth."

David's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't the truth, Jones."

Killian shrugged. "Number two rule of journalism; if the truth isn't interesting enough, _fabricate_."

David sighed. Killian could tell he was about to argue, but was surprised when he steered the conversation in a different direction.

"I need you to find out all you can about Emma Mills. Where she comes from, what she does in her spare time, why she came to Boston, the whole deal. If she threw up in class when she was eight on a Friday, I want to know."

Killian raised an eyebrow. He waited for the punch line of the joke, but David was dead serious. "Your housemate? Can't really find out about her if you and Mary Margaret have forbidden me from even laying eyes on her."

David glared at him. "You don't need to meet her to learn about her past, Jones." David hesitated, his glare faltering. "Come for dinner. You can meet her, and then get to work. Use any methods at your disposal—the Boston PD may not turn a blind eye if they find out, but in this case, I will."

"Are you saying—"

"Any and all, _Captain_."

Killian nodded, but he wasn't thrilled about the 'permission.' His power-using—and abusing—days were short-lived and behind him. He'd _sworn_ never to use his powers again, and he was a man of his word. So he would meet this Emma Mills, learn about her, and give his report to David. But he wouldn't become _that man_ again.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Tell me what you think! Or don't. I hope you enjoyed this chapter either way! I still don't _really_ know where I'm going with this, so updates will probably be really slow. But I hope to have caught your attention enough that it's worth the wait ;)

Also, let it be known that I know nothing about Boston, and anything/place/street mentioned in this story are purely fictional and imagined. Thank you.

-Ashlee Frame


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 **Chapter Two: The Lies and Life of a Superhero**

Emma yawned, stretching her arms as she awoke. Her mouth felt thick and fuzzy, and her face felt warm. Overall, she felt as if she had just woken from a very bad dream. Blinking, she took in the sight before her. Mary Margaret and David were staring down at her, a worried look about him. Mary Margaret's slim black eyebrows were drawn close together, her clear green eyes locked on Emma's face. David had one hand on Emma's shoulder, one hand on Mary Margaret's. He squeezed Emma's reassuringly as Emma glanced around in confusion.

"Uh, morning?" Emma questioned, pushing herself into a seated position. From the couch, Emma had a perfect view of the window. Normally, brightness would be filtering lazily through that window, staining the room with buttery yellow sunshine. At the moment, Emma could only see the glittering lights of the building across the street. No morning sunshine.

"Not morning," Emma groaned, falling back against the couch. She pressed her palms into her eyes, feeling a headache start to bud. Just another one of the many after-effects of using her ability. _Was saving that woman worth it?_ Emma wondered. It was a no-brainer; of _course_ it was worth it.

"How are you feeling?" Mary Margaret asked as she sat down near Emma's feet. Emma drew her knees to her chest, trying to take deep breaths.

"Like crap," Emma groaned. "Do we have any aspirin?"

"I'll go get some," David offered. Emma mumbled a thank-you, rubbing her temples slowly. "What happened, Emma? We found you passed out against the door. Mary Margaret says that you were several hours late home from school."

"I was just worried—we were going to watch Sleeping Beauty today," Mary Margaret explained. "Are you feeling all right? Your temperature was a bit high, but nothing serious. Do you feel nauseous, dizzy, short of breath?"

David was back with the aspirin. Emma took it gratefully, downing it with a glass of water slowly, giving herself time to come up with an excuse. It wasn't as if she could up and say ' _hey, sorry I worried you, my powers over light just kind of knocked me out. But don't worry! This is the first time I've used them in years!'_ That would only serve to lose her housing. Emma knew David and Mary Margaret cared about her, but everyone had their limits. Emma had learned that lesson well, growing up as she did.

But she pushed those thoughts aside. Now was not the time.

"I feel okay now; I think it was just exhausted. I haven't had anything to eat all day and—" But that did the trick.

"Oh!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, jumping up. "I was just finishing up with the spaghetti—we wanted to wake you for dinner."

"Do you need any help with anything?" Emma wondered, guilt welling up in her. She _hated_ lying, especially to people who she regarded as friends.

"Nope!" Mary Margaret declined, spooning noodles and sauce onto plates—four plates, Emma noted. Giving the living room more than a cursory glance, Emma noticed that she and David were not alone. Sitting at the center of the love seat was an unfamiliar man.

He wore a leather jacket over a cobalt blue button-up shirt, and a pair of dark-wash blue jeans. His ankle was crossed loosely on top of the opposite knee, and his hands were folded in his lap. The man's dark blue eyes were trained on the television, which was on some news channel, though they weren't moving—he obviously was not paying attention to what was happening on it. Emma didn't blame him.

He must have felt her eyes on him, because a moment later she found herself locking eyes with the man. His eyes were much more beautiful than she'd originally assumed; framed by thick black lashes, complimented by his scruffy black five o'clock shadow and messy black hair. Emma felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A name was on the tip of her tongue, one of David's friends that she'd yet to meet. But she couldn't catch it.

The man cleared his throat—Emma looked away quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up. She'd been staring.

"All right! Everything's ready!" Mary Margaret cheered. David and the other man stood, David holding a hand out to help Emma up. Emma took his hand gratefully, smiling.

"Thank you for dinner, Mary Margaret. It looks delicious!" Emma said as she sat down across from the other woman. David took a seat to her left, the stranger to her right.

"Of course! Before we start eating—Emma, I don't think you've been introduced to Killian yet." _Killian_ , Emma remembered at Mary Margaret's words. _Killian Jones, the superhero reporter, and one of David's best friends._

"Ah, allow me," the man said smoothly, and _by god his voice!_ It was official; Emma was crushing. Forget about Mr. Walsh, the cute teaching assistant—Emma only had eyes for Mr. Jones. "Killian Jones, at your service love," Killian stuck out his hand. Emma took it, smiling slightly—then felt her cheeks light up again as he bent down to actually _kiss_ her hand. David cleared his throat obnoxiously, but Killian only have a roguish smile before sitting down again.

"Pleased to meet you, Killian," Emma said with a smile. "I'm—"

"Emma Mills, my eighteen year old—roommate," David cut in, smiling stiffly. Emma felt someone kick her in the leg, a blow that was probably aimed at David. Whether it came from Mary Margaret or Killian, Emma couldn't be sure.

"I've heard so much about you—Dave might as well be your own father, from the way he talks about you," Killian mused, smiling. He took a bite of spaghetti, congratulating Mary Margaret on an excellent meal. "Though I'm sure you're used to it—your own father dotes on you often, does he?"

Emma frowned, shrugging noncommittally. Her mother was all she had, really, though she'd come to look upon Archie, her therapist, as a sort of father figure. It was odd conversation to make on first meeting, though. Emma looked down at her plate, started cutting her spaghetti.

"How was your day, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked. Emma looked up, feeling a bit odd—they normally were all seated on the couch for dinner. This formal setting was messing with her.

"Uh, it was okay," Emma replied around a bite of garlic bread. "My presentation went well, I guess." _I saved a woman in an alleyway._ "You know, same old. I think it was just the stress and—uh, low blood sugar or something that had me passing out."

"Does your family have a history of hypoglycemia?" Killian wondered casually—or at least it sounded like he was _trying_ to be casual. To Emma's ears, though, it sounded _too_ …blasé.

Emma cast a strange look towards David. "Not that I know of," she replied cautiously. "My mother never likes to show weakness, so if she had it I would never have known," Emma continued. Not that her mother's history really mattered—Emma was adopted, after all. There were no medical records of who her real parents were, though, so she didn't see fit to mention anything of her adoption. And anyways, it wasn't as if it was any of Killian's business whether or not her family had a _history of hypoglycemia._

Mary Margaret was staring at Emma with a worried look. David, too, cast a glance in her direction, and even Killian seemed to be affronted.

Apparently it was her turn to act blasé—Emma took another bite of spaghetti, chasing it down with a drink of water.

* * *

The rest of the dinner continued in the same manner. Emma would make a comment, Killian would take that comment and try and turn it into a question about her past, Emma would answer, not even trying to hide her offense, and Mary Margaret would try to diffuse the situation. David went back and forth between the two; sometimes egging on Killian's questions, sometimes working with Mary Margaret to ascertain that Emma wasn't going to strangle Killian.

Needless to say, it was an interesting dinner, and Emma was glad when it was over. Instead of sticking around to say goodbye to the guest, Emma turned in early, rushing off to her room. It was official; her short time crush on Killian Jones was over.

* * *

" _What_ is going on?" Mary Margaret demanded furiously as Emma rounded the corner.

"Nothing," David replied. Too quickly; he'd basically confirmed that there was something going on. And Mary Margaret _would_ find out what it was, of that David was certain. She had a knack for such things.

Rounding on Killian, Mary Margaret crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. Lesser men had quailed under such a look, and it was having the desired effect; Killian looked very close to spilling the beans. David could not have that. Not when he wasn't certain Emma Mills was _their_ Emma. He couldn't do that…couldn't give his wife such hope, only to have it disappear when they found out his instinct was wrong.

"Nothing is going on," David repeated, taking Mary Margaret by the arms. "If it were anything important, I would tell you. I simply wanted Killian to finally meet Emma."

Mary Margaret frowned. She could always tell when he was lying; that was another thing she had a knack for. Her pink lips turned down, her forehead wrinkled, and her arms tightened. David opened his mouth to continue, but finally she relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides. David took her soft hands in his.

"All right," she muttered, turning her gaze to her feet. But then she looked up, her eyes sharp. "But if something were to _become_ important, I expect to be the first to know." Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned up for a kiss. David obliged, pecking her on the lips.

"I'm going to walk Killian out," David told her. Mary Margaret nodded, releasing his hands. David turned to Killian, jerked his head to the door.

"It was a lovely meal, Mary Margaret. My thanks," Killian grinned, tilting his head. Then, he followed David out.

"What do you want in return?" David asked once they were in the stairwell. "You are going to find out for me, right?" He couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice; he _needed_ to know. More than anything, he needed to know if Emma Mills was the daughter he'd lost eighteen years ago.

It wasn't just David, though. Mary Margaret needed her daughter as well. Ever since she'd been taken, the woman he'd fallen in love with was not the same. Neither of them were. It had taken years for their lives to even return to something resembling normalcy—normal enough for retired superheroes, anyways—and their relationship only recently had taken a turn for the better. But even now, there was strain in the relationship, strain in their lives. They weren't living to the fullest.

Mary Margaret hardly ever smiled, and had had to quit her job working with children because it was a near constant reminder of the child she had lost. The only time she really smiled anymore was when she was around Emma—which only served to reaffirm David's notion that Emma Mills was, in reality, Emma Charming.

Killian pressed his lips together and leaned against the railing. "I will learn more about her, David. But I will not use my powers—those days are behind me, the consequences are too severe, and I'm not willing to take the risk."

"Understood," David quickly agreed. Killian was his only chance. He and Mary Margaret had hired dozens of private investigators to find their daughter. All of whom had either disappeared days after having accepted the assignment, or had returned with no results to speak of. But now David didn't need a private investigator; he only needed someone to confirm what he already knew—what his _heart_ already knew.

"But I will use the other means at my disposal. In return…" Killian grinned, and David felt his stomach drop. "Reporting has been slow as of late; what I desire in return is a scoop—a _big_ scoop. From the major league heroes. Get me that, and I'll set out to proving Emma Mills is your daughter."

David worked his jaw, thinking. It was simple enough, really. He had pull in the Superheroes Guild, being a former major league superhero. What Killian was asking was a relatively simple task. So long as he kept his visit to the SG headquarters a secret from his wife. He'd go tomorrow, around his lunch hour at noon, so that Mary Margaret wouldn't have to know.

"It's a deal," he agreed. "I'll go in tomorrow. But do _not_ mention me as your informant."

Killian grinned. "A deal, then."

As he turned to leave, David stopped him. "And Jones?" He waited until he had Killian's full attention. "If Emma is my daughter? That makes her off limits to you." _To anyone, really,_ thought David. He didn't mention that though; the warning wouldn't have as much of an effect.

Killian's smile turned stiff. "Of course, mate. See you tomorrow with the scoop."

* * *

Emma tossed and turned all night, her body still smarting from the effects of using her powers—something she _definitely_ did not plan on doing ever again. Years of not using them had certainly not made the after effects any better.

"Emma Mills," intoned a deep voice. "Pleased to meet you."

Emma shot up from her bed like a rocket, reaching for the can of pepper spray that David insists she carry with her. The small bottle she'd kept on her nightstand fit into her hand perfectly, and was even colored pink. Glancing around wildly, Emma searched for the source of the voice frantically, ready to scream at any moment. It was nearly seven o'clock in the morning, so chances were that David had already left for work. But Mary Margaret would undoubtedly still be home.

But there was no one there to scream at.

"Please, put down the pepper spray, I mean you no harm," the voice implored, coming from the walls themselves. Emma whirled every which way, looking for any sort of speaker or recording device. "You'll not see me; I am invisible, at the moment. Something I am sure you're…familiar with."

"Who are you?" Emma demanded loudly, hoping to catch Mary Margaret's attention. Her room was only down the hall. "What do you want?"

"I only want to talk," the voice soothed. "I am the recruitment Head for the Superheroes Guild; I'm sure you've heard of the organization?"

Emma didn't say anything. Of _course_ she'd heard of the organization. However, she'd grown up being brainwashed with the idea that the people of the SG were bad, murdering, hypocritical people who did not deserve the government funding that they were allotted. She had no idea why they would want to talk to her, though; as far as she knew, the only person who'd seen her use her powers was the crying woman she'd saved. And she had no idea who that woman was, which meant that woman had no idea who _she_ was.

"We have eyes everywhere," the voice explained, his tone amused. "We know of your power, Ms. Mills. We wish to recruit you as a new superhero. I've set up an appointment for you with Blue; on your nightstand is a card with an address, password, and time. Go to the address today at that time, use the password and you will be allowed to talk with Blue. Best of luck, Ms. Mills."

"I'm not interested," Emma grit out, glancing around the room for any sign of movement. But there was none, and the voice did not speak again.

Emma hurried to her nightstand, and did indeed find an address with a password on it, and a time; today at noon, in five hours.

 _Like hell am I going to the SG_ , Emma thought derisively, tearing the card in two. She glanced at her bed longingly and sighed; might as well get ready for the day.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, what do you think? I'd hoped to write a bit more, but I think this chapter finished off nicely, and I can't continue without at least trying to gauge a response for one question; to Henry, or not to Henry? I think I might include him, not being Emma's son but playing the 'best friend' role, and motivator for superherodom. But anyways; thanks for follows/favorites/review!

Guest: It is sad, but not really any different than canon. I hope to give the Charming family a lot of bonding time, though, which is why I categorized this into family instead of romance. I hope you stick around to see it!

-Ashlee Frame


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Mysterious Meetings and Recruiters Who Can't Take No For an Answer  
**

Mary Margaret was putting the finishing touches on a Red Riding Hood themed red velvet cupcake when Emma stumbled through the hallway and into the kitchen. Mary Margaret took a deep breath, hardly able to contain her excitement. Emma mumbled a good morning, appearing to not notice the array of cupcakes and cookies and other goodies that were scattered across all available counter-space.

She grabbed a cook and quickly shoved it into her mouth. Mary Margaret wanted to sigh in exasperation. Honestly, Emma was just like David—in the morning, he was focused on only a couple of things; coffee, food, and planning a nap for later in the day.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret finally exclaimed, incapable of waiting for Emma to notice the baked goods around her. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Definitely," Emma mumbled with a smile. She removed the cookie from her mouth and held it up to Mary Margaret proudly. "Great cookie."

Mary Margaret grinned, and motioned around the kitchen with her hand. Raising an eyebrow, Emma finished off her cookie, wiping the evidence onto her jeans, before finally taking a good look around the kitchen. The shock and confusion was evident from her expression, and Mary Margaret couldn't help herself from grinning.

"What…?" Emma trailed off, hardly able to finish that sentence. Mary Margaret filled in the blanks.

"I was having trouble sleeping last night," she started to explain whilst piling a couple of plates high with pieces of the undecorated cupcakes, slices of pie, macaroons, mini-pies, and the various other goodies that she'd made the previous night. She waited, taking Emma's groan of delight as a sign to continue her explanation.

"Whenever I had trouble sleeping as a child, my mother would stay up late into the night with me to bake cookies." The nights had been long and hard. For a very long time, whenever she'd used her powers Mary Margaret would get terrible nightmares. Her mother, whose power was only slightly different from Mary Margaret's, understood the terror, and would help however possible. She'd always had a very close relationship with her mother, and had wanted to have the same relationship with her own daughter.

 _Mary Margaret, stop it_ , she commanded herself quickly. _There's no use thinking about that now. Emma's here, and she may not be my Emma, but that doesn't mean I can't become close to her as well._

"Eating half a batch of cookies with a glass of milk would usually do the trick. So I decided to try it last night. But after I baked the cookies, I decided to try something different. And…well…" She gestured to the kitchen. "This happened."

"'This' is _amazing_ ," Emma exclaimed, her eyes wide. Mary Margaret grinned, pleased that she'd managed to elicit such an enthusiastic reaction out of the normally more reserved girl. "How did we have the ingredients for all of this though?"She continued incredulously.

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I took a quick trip to the store. I'm surprised you didn't wake up, David and I were pretty loud."

Emma nodded. "I sleep like a log. So, what do you plan on doing with all this…stuff?" It was clear from her tone that she was impressed.

Mary Margaret ducked her head in embarrassment. _And here comes the crux of it…_ "I was thinking of…openingupabakeryandsellingit?"

Emma tilted her head. "Sorry?"

"I was…planning on opening up a baker and selling it," she stated slowly. After she got that sentence out, she smiled in excitement. "I've got the whole thing planned out; I'm thinking of a fairytale theme, and I'll call it 'Snow White and the Seven Cupcakes.' Isn't that great! The tables will be themed, my specialty will be on decorating cupcakes and macaroons and cakes to match with the theme, but I'll also do brownies, pies, cookies, and all sorts of desserts and special orders! I know someone who can decorate the windows like a fairytale kingdom, I've already written up a menu, and we could wear costumes while we sell them—I know someone who loves to design and make costumes, too, so it works out perfectly!"

Once she started talking about it, she couldn't stop. She'd been thinking of doing something like this, starting a bakery or something along those lines, for a few weeks now. Having trouble sleeping, and subsequently thinking of her mother—all the late nights, the searching for newer, tastier recipes, was the push she had needed to really get started. And once she'd gotten started, her excitement and sureness only grew.

"You definitely have the talent," Emma admitted, taking another bite from the mud pie. That was one of Mary Margaret's favorite, and Emma's expression echoed the sentiment. "Do you think you can really pull it off, though?"

Mary Margaret smiled softly, leaning her hip against the counter. Her gaze traveled across Emma, the cupcakes, the pies, and the brownies. After giving everything a thorough look, her eyes returned to Emma's.

Emma had such beautiful eyes. _Her_ Emma's eyes had been bright blue, much like David's. But this Emma had eyes that were strangely like Mary Margaret's; the same shape, the same color. And they sparkled so brightly whenever the young woman laughed, or smiled.

Clearing her throat, Mary Margaret replied softly. 'I think I can. I really think I can, Em—Emma." Her throat was full, but she spoke through the pain. Emma didn't seem to notice the falter in her voice. If she had, she wouldn't realize what it was for.

Emma smiled. "Then, I'd like to help you." Those simple words made Mary Margaret's day. She grinned so hard, it hurt her face, though she couldn't stop herself.

"I'd like that," Mary Margaret admitted. "If you have a few minutes, come here and I'll show you the rough draft of the menu…"

* * *

Emma was walking from her first to her second class like a woman on a mission. It was nearing noon—and she was nearing her appointment with the director of the Superheroes Guild. She was almost certain that if she didn't show up at the time and place requested, she would be accosted in some form or another.

And she was completely right.

As she turned down an empty walkway that was a shortcut to her next class, Emma was unceremoniously pulled into one of the brick divots that functioned as a phone booth.

"Emma Mills," the voice intoned. It was a different voice than the one last night. This one was feminine and smooth, not male and Irish like the one from last night. And the person behind the voice…well, they were entirely corporeal. Emma could see their manicured hands, nails painted a bright fire truck red, holding Emma tightly at the waist. She couldn't even move her arms away from her sides, this woman was so strong.

" _What_?" Emma demanded in annoyance, struggling as best as she could. She wasn't frightened, not really. For some reason, calm had replaced her panic, and serenity was washing over her like the waves of the ocean lapped over the beach.

"You're about to miss your appointment with the Blue Fairy," the woman intoned.

"I told your invisible guy, I don't want _anything to do_ with the SG," Emma informed the woman aggressively. "Who are you?"

Emma was whirled around roughly, still encircled in the woman's arms. The woman was instantly recognizable. She was one of the minor-league heroes, though Emma knew it was her nonetheless. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a sleek high ponytail. Her green eyes danced behind the bright red mask. She was taller than Emma by a couple of inches, and Emma couldn't see anything below her neck because of how close they were. But she knew what the woman would be wearing.

Bright red boots and a bright red cape to match her nails and her mask. She wore an unobtrusive baby-doll dress that was checkered blue and white, white leggings, and always carried her basket—what she'd nicknamed her handgun—with her, since her powers generally required touch. It explained why Emma couldn't move, and felt strangely serene. Little Red had dual powers; the power to influence people's emotions, and superhuman strength.

"Oh," Emma breathed. _Okay, so the SG must really want me to come meet with them if they're willing to send Little Red_. She might've been a minor-league hero, but she was a powerful and persuasive one. Sighing, Emma realized that she wouldn't be allowed to leave the phone booth without agreeing to meet with Blue.

"Okay, so if I agree to _meet_ with Blue, will _you guys_ agree to leave me alone?"

Little Red regarded Emma for a moment before nodding. "If you meet with Blue and think, after talking with her, that you don't want to be a superhero, you're crazy. But we'll respect your wishes and leave you the hell alone," she agreed. "Heck, if you're able to say no to Blue after she guilt trips you, _I_ will personally make sure no one bothers you for the rest of your life."

Emma nodded. "Fine. Take me to your leader, I guess."

* * *

Emma was in awe of the place. On the outside, it had been just another brick façade, just another rundown establishment that needed a serious facelift. But as soon as Red—who'd instructed Emma to call her thus—gave the password and escorted Emma through the door, they were in a whole new world.

The first floor was large and spacious. Many different people were hurrying around the main lobby area. Those that did not have superhero costumes on were wearing monotonous white and black uniforms with the SG logo emblazoned on the right breast. There were so many people, it was a wonder that this place hadn't been discovered long ago, since there must be a large influx of people entering and leaving the outwardly dirty building.

"Wait here," Red instructed, pulling Emma's arm until she was seated in a chair next to a wooden door. The door was labeled with a 'Director: Blue Fairy' placard. "I'll be right back," Red continued, and then bolted off with purpose.

Emma was content to wait and watch the going-ons of the place. The main area was large and inviting, the temperature was kept warm, but not stifling. To her left there was a hallway that looked like it opened up to a cafeteria, to her right there was a reception desk.

"Emma Mills?" Emma looked to her left. Standing in the doorway was a woman Emma had never seen before, had only heard about; the Blue Fairy.

Emma stood up and tried to enter the room with the Director, but she was blocked.

"Here's what is going to happen," Blue intoned sternly, holding up her palm. Emma raised an eyebrow. "When Red comes back, you are going to follow her to a woman named Belle. Belle has spent the past day designing and fabricating what will become your new superhero identity. You are going to put on the costume, you will follow Red back here, and I will give you your assignment. Understand?"

Emma paled. This woman was shorter than she was, and yet she commanded respect in a way Emma never hoped to. Wordlessly, Emma turned, took her seat, and waited for Red to bring her to Belle.

* * *

Belle was a vibrant girl only a couple of years older than Emma. She was wearing casual clothing, not the starched uniform everyone who wasn't a superhero wore, but also not an elaborate costume such as the one Red and the Blue Fairy sported. Instead, she wore a tan pencil skirt, printed pink tights, impossibly tall high-heels, and a flowing turquoise shirt. Her hair was long, curly, and brown, and was pinned back from her face by barrettes. She hardly glanced at Emma when they entered. However, she was all eyes for Red.

"Ruby!" Bell exclaimed, glancing around her workspace self-consciously. It was a rather tidy workspace, so Emma didn't know why she looked so ashamed. "I was—I was just—"

"I brought our new recruit," 'Ruby' Red interrupted with a smile. "Cindy said you were all ready for her?"

Belle cleared her throat and smiled, finally registering Emma's presence.

"I didn't see you there," Belle apologized, extending a hand. "Pleased to meet you; I'm Belle."

"I'm—"

"The Golden Swan," Belle smiled. "Emma Mills, yes, I know who you are. This whole _place_ has been abuzz since we learned of your existence. White Out is a good friend of mine, I designed both hers and the Shepherd's costumes. White's suit was a favorite of mine—until I made yours."

"She's very excited about your costume," Red muttered in Emma's ear. "Best to go along with it. I'll be back in twenty minutes, don't wander off. See you later Belle?"

Belle waved at Red, then motioned Emma closer, then thrust a box towards her. "I was up all night putting the finishing touches on this. You can't put it on in here—don't worry, no one is looking."

Emma grimaced, eyeing the box with distrust. She was worried it wouldn't fit, or it wouldn't suit her style, or it would, and they would make her give it back once she decided she didn't want to be a superhero. But she turned anyways, walked to the corner of the room and stripped to her undergarments so that she could put the suit on. She found that she was surprised with the finished product—it was comfortable, light-weight, and didn't show off anything Emma wasn't comfortable with.

"And here are the shoes," Belle said, handing Emma a pair of sturdy white ankle boots to match the outfit with a giddy smile on her face. "The feathers—they're made from a lightweight carbon material. They won't scratch you because the tights are woven in with the same material, but you have to be careful when you handle them, because they are _very_ sharp. And let me know whenever you use them, okay? So I can make replacements."

"What would I use them for?" Emma wondered, carefully touching the shimmering feathers that made up her skirt.

"I'll let Graham explain that. You'll meet with him tomorrow to start training."

 _Training for what?_ Emma wanted to know. She didn't want to ask, though. It bothered her that everyone was already assuming that she would say yes to all of this without actually having posed the question even once.

"Now, let's talk about your identity." Belle stepped towards Emma, made a couple of adjustments to the way Emma wore the clothing, and then stepped back to give her an appraising look.

"My identity?" Emma repeated.

Belle nodded seriously. "Yes. Everyone will know you as the Golden Swan—but who is that person? I like your moniker in particular, and not just because I've had designs for those feathers sitting in my filing cabinet for months now." Belle smiled. "It has dual parts; the swan, which is a graceful creature, and the ugly duckling, which you've grown from. Now, let's talk about _who you are_ as a superhero. What are your ideals, what are your strengths, weaknesses? What makes you tic?"

Emma swallowed. To be truthful, she felt more like the ugly duckling than the swan, though she wasn't about to admit that. "I…" _don't know what to say._

Thankfully, Belle seemed to realize how overwhelmed Emma was. "Don't worry," she reassured Emma. "We don't have to discuss this today. You won't make your debut for a couple of days anyways, we have plenty of time. But I'm not just here to talk about all the boring superhero things." Though her voice stated that Belle _clearly_ did not find superhero things boring. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Do you have a power?" Emma blurted out, then covered her mouth in embarrassment. She didn't know the etiquette of a superhero world, but she was certain that _that_ wasn't a polite question.

Belle didn't seem to mind, however. "I do," she nodded. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and held her palm open. In her palm, a small dot of glowing red light started to form. It took a few minutes, but finally it was the size of a golf ball—but after reaching that size, it quickly fizzled out. Belle sighed.

"I do have the power of energy creation, though I don't have very good control over it. It isn't very useful anyways," Belle dismissed. Emma though differently, though she didn't say anything. She wasn't one to talk about appreciating powers, when Emma herself would give anything to be rid of her own.

"Why did you choose to be a part of the SG, then?"

Belle smiled, looked at the ceiling. "I love books. In the fantasy books, the heroine is always someone powerful, or magical, or magnificent. Working with the SG, designing the suits that can save a hero's life, or help a hero stop the bad guy…this is the closest I will ever be to being the actual heroine."

Emma nodded. She could understand the sentiment behind Belle's words—but the reality, at least in Emma's case, wasn't so romantic. She couldn't control how her powers affected _her_ , much less trying to save anyone else.

When she'd been younger, the after-effects had been worth the awe her powers bestowed upon her and her friend. How eager Lily had been about Emma's powers—how sure she had been that Emma would one day grow up to become the most powerful superhero in the world. All of the lethargy an lost time in the world had been worth the short moments of bliss.

Even after the incident, Emma was still on the fence about her powers. But she'd quickly grown to realize that her powers did more harm than good, and had decided to swear off using them. And she'd had no occasion to use them—right up until she'd heard the woman being mugged in the alley, and couldn't help herself from saving her.

So, maybe that was Emma's lot in life. Being a half-assed heroine who was incapacitated most of the time.

But, looking at Belle's earnest expression—how she really _truly_ wished that she could be the heroine all of the fantasy books wrote about, how she truly wished to _help_ people—Emma couldn't help but want to at least _try_.

"All right," Emma whispered. "I'm in."

* * *

David advanced through the Superheroes Guild headquarters like a man on a mission. He'd donned his uniform a couple minutes prior—smug that it still fit perfectly—and was walking through the main lobby towards Blue's office. The uniform was more of a formality; everyone at the SG headquarters knew that David Charming was the Shepherd, just as everyone knew the Blue Fairy was actually Reul Ghorm, local head of the Make a Wish foundation.

But one could never know for certain if there was a spy among them, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Even though he was retired, it was still extremely important that his identity be protected. Especially now that he had his powerless potential daughter living with him. And even if she wasn't his daughter, she was his friend, and David didn't want to put her in any danger.

He nodded to his former compatriots whenever he saw them, but didn't stop to chat. It was best that he got this over and done with, didn't delay the process for any longer than it needed to be. He still had to be back at work by the end of his lunch hour, anyways.

Approaching the door labeled 'Director: Blue Fairy', David gave it a sharp knock before striding in.

Blue was standing in the corner of the room, by the window, looking down onto the city. Her curly auburn hair was pulled up into a ponytail, which was tied with a blue ribbon. The ribbon connected to the sparkling blue mask which covered her cheekbones, forehead, and nose. She was wearing her usual light blue jumpsuit, knee-high white boots, and elbow-length white gloves. Her arms were crossed, and she'd been speaking before David had interrupted.

Looking back at her desk, David realized there was someone already in a session with Blue. The woman stood quickly when David turned towards her, her body rigid, mouth open in shock. She must've been new, so David understood the reaction—it wasn't every day a new hero got to meet the famous Shepherd. David stood a little straighter, and surveyed the young heroine before him.

This hero had long, flowing white-gold hair that fell down to her waist— _that's going to be a disadvantage if anyone gets close enough,_ David thinks. He would have to mention it to Blue. She wore white ankle boots that looked familiar, the same style that Mary Margaret had worn during her time as White Out. Probably crafted by the same person, too. Her legs were clad in a shimmering golden leggings, which lead up to a ruffled golden skirt— _were those feathers?_

Indeed, the skirt was covered in silky feathers, which glittered metallically when they shifted. They could probably be removed and used as weapons in a pinch. _Definitely made by Belle_ , David smiled. Her top was long-sleeved, a bit of the golden-white material looping around the girl's middle finger. Her hands were left bare—so her power must require the use of her hands. Her skin was pale, her mask was elaborately decorated in a swirling design, which was more for show than anything else. It only covered her nose, cheekbones, and eyebrows, though it was enough to obscure her features. Especially since it was probably charmed with an obscurity spell, which would confuse anyone who might otherwise recognize the girl for who she was.

"Hello." David nodded, then turned his attention back towards Blue. "Sorry if I'm interrupting? I only have a few minutes, though, and I need information."

"It's all right, Shepherd," Blue waved her hand at the other hero. "We were just finishing. Swan, go see Belle again and have her take you to Assignment Central, where they'll debrief you on your first mission."

'Swan' nodded hurriedly, and practically ran out of the room. David stared after her for a moment, confused. Normally the new heroes would fall over themselves trying to befriend him. He didn't think on it for long though—he had information to gather. And he knew exactly who he wanted the scoop to be on now.

"I need information on her—on the Swan," David stated firmly. Blue sighed, moving from the window to her desk.

"Straight to business as always, I see," Blue mused. David said nothing. He was being a bit rude, he knew that. But he was on a time crunch…and honestly, being back at the SG headquarters was like a cold bucket of water being dropped on him. He didn't miss the gig—not even a little bit. No, David was content as the Chief of police; he'd worked hard for that position, and would be hard-pressed to give it up.

But there were some good memories that came from the SG. Meeting his wife, for one. He'd never forget his first mission with her, going from 'The Shepherd' and 'White Out' to 'The Shepherd _and_ White Out'. They'd been the greatest crime-fighting duo since The Weaver and Thread retired, which was nearly fifty years ago. Their recognition swept across the globe, their romance was the subject of hundreds of articles.

And Mary Margaret…she'd been so vibrant, so _alive_. Helping people was her passion, and together they had saved hundreds of thousands of innocent lives.

David had plenty of good memories that came from his time as the Shepherd. And yet, he wouldn't trade where he was now for all the fame and fortune in the world.

"We're calling her the Golden Swan," Blue interrupted David from his reverie. Her eyes were focused on a stack of papers before her. "Got the title from the article printed by our very own Killian Jones. It fits—she's graceful, she's elegant, and she'll be an inspiration to all the little girls who will want to grow up just like her—make sure Jones puts those _exact_ words in his article please. Yes, I know exactly what you want this information for, Dave—you're not very sneaky." David frowned at that, but nodded his understanding. David actually thought he was _very_ sneaky…not that it mattered at the moment.

"Anyways, we've tested her powers already, and she is quite powerful. Off the record? Her powers take quite the toll on her, so if you still have the recipe for White's energy replacement potions, the poor girl could really use it. On the record, her powers…" Blue frowned, choosing her words carefully. She seemed conflicted, the emotions playing across her face faster than David could recognize. Finally, she sighed. "Her powers are _exactly_ opposite the Captain's. We've confirmed two of them, light manipulation and—"

"You've confirmed _two_ of them?" David repeated, shock rippling through him. One power among super-powered individuals was typical, with a majority of all heroes and villains displaying only one power throughout their life. Two was incredible, though not totally uncommon—the Evil Queen, White Out, the Captain, and Little Red most notably. But more than two…it was almost unheard of, and it was nearly required for the hero in question to have a super-powered parent on both sides.

There was only one person in the past fifty years who'd been born two superhero parents, and as far as David knew, Baelfire never exhibited any signs of getting his powers. Other than that, there was Mimic, who could take powers from other superheroes—but she could only use one power at a time, and anyways, she had died in action three years ago.

"Yes," Blue replied sagely. "We have confirmed that she has two powers. But I sense a third power that is lying dormant. I don't know if it will be revealed to us any time soon, or ever for that matter, so please do not mention it to Jones. If the wrong people were to find out…"

She didn't need to finish that sentence. David knew exactly what were to happen if the wrong people were to find out. And it wasn't good.

"Understood," David said. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around the office. "Is…there anything else I should know?"

"Yes. Let the public know that her first assignment is to take on Ursula."

David stared— _Ursula_? Ursula was a newbie's first assignment? A slow smile spread across his face. "You're planning something, aren't you Blue?"

Blue tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. A serene look passed over her. "Planning something? I always am, Shephe

* * *

 _Golden Swan Takes on Ursula: The Daily Boston would have you believing that the Superheroes Guild is allowing the dangerous trio, the Queens of Darkness, to run rampant through our fine city. They would have you believing that these women are taking over Boston, ready to destroy the population. Here on the Superhero Spotlight, we've got news for the Daily._

 _Rumors circulating through the Superheroes Guild Headquarters' tell of a different tale. The tale of an up-and-coming heroine, nominated the Golden Swan, preparing to take down the watery witch, Ursula, of the Queens of Darkness. News will come as the story updates—for now, we'll take a look at this previously unknown heroine._

 _Sunday's Spotlight told the story of this Golden Swan saving a woman from a non-powered human. The SG caught wind of this woman and vaulted her into Superhero-dom. With the power to control the forces of light, she should be nearly as unstoppable as White Out who, as we all remember, was one of the few multi-powered heroes. That is, assuming that the Captain—whose abilities are exactly opposite hers, and likely rival hers in power—does not rejoin the side of evil._

 _She is graceful, she is elegant, and she will be an inspiration to all the little girls who will grow up to become swans just like her. But who is the woman behind the mask? You'll find out here first, at the Superhero Spotlight with Killian Jones._

Killian felt slightly nauseous, writing the report. He had felt slightly nauseous hearing the words from David—her powers were exactly opposite his own, and seemingly just as powerful. What was the purpose of this? What was she here for? Had she been here all along, right under his nose? Did he know her, personally?

Killian needed to find out.

 _The Golden Swan_.

"Have you learned anything about Emma?"

Killian jerked, startled. David was staring at him with an odd expression.

"Emma?" David repeated, straightening. They were in Killian's office. Killian was seated at his desk, David had been leaning against it. Now he was standing before Killian, imposing as ever with his shoulders squared. Killian felt a burst of adrenaline pump through him—he was abruptly ready to fight, to flee—but he quelled that urge. Clearing his throat, Killian turned away from the blasted paper.

"Since the lass has just graduated high school, I have searched the records for 'Emma Mills' along the East Coast. I've gotten eleven results. If those don't pan out, I will start heading west." Killian looked up solemnly, meeting David's eyes with a calm sureness.

David nodded, looking down. "See that you do," he returned gruffly, and hurried out of the office.

Killian sighed, turning back to his computer to pull up the file on 'Emma Mills'. In truth, he'd found only one report of an Emma Mills, and it was indeed the one David was looking for. Killian was just pondering over how to break the news that Dave's long-lost daughter was the 'adopted' daughter of the retired Evil Queen.

Killian's power over shadows made him privy to certain things. One of those things was the identity—the _true_ identity of the Evil Queen.

Regina Mills.

"Miss me?"

Killian's head snapped up. He jumped from his seat and whirled around. His eyes immediately landed on a shadowy figure in the corner of office.

She stood with her back to his windows, and was fiddling idly with a pen. This woman did not look a thing like the Evil Queen Killian had once known—she was prim, and properly attired in a grey pantsuit. Her hair was coiffed, cut off at the chin so that the dark strands curled around her ears. Her lips were not colored a vivacious maroon; instead, they were painted a respectable light pink, though the picture of delicacy was marred by the sneer she wore. Her legs were crossed at the ankles. Her presence commanded all the attention in the room.

"What are you doing here?" Killian demanded, glancing around as if someone was going to catch him with the former—though some would say current—villain. "How long have you been here? What did you hear?" He tried to keep his calm, though he was frantic inside. If Regina found out that David was actually the Shepherd…it would be detrimental. To him, to Killian, to Mary Margaret…probably to Emma, too.

Taking a deep breath, Killian tried to calm himself.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Don't worry Jones, I only saw you mooning over your David Charming for a few seconds. You should keep in mind that he's married with children—oops," her expression turned falsely innocent. "I guess I ruined the 'with children' part for him though, didn't I?"

"What do you want?" Killian demanded, clenching his fists. He was relieved that she did not appear to have heard anything about David getting information from the SG itself—but that begged the question, if not to take revenge on the Charming's, what was she here for?

Regina pushed herself off from the wall and strode towards Killian purposefully. Her dark eyes were locked on his, and she nearly reached him in height with the high-heeled shoes she was wearing. Killian stood his ground, refused to be cowed. She may still have her powers, as evidence of her abruptly appearing in his office—but he also had his. And Regina didn't need to know that he'd promised himself he would never use his powers again.

"What am I here for? I'm only here to support my daughter from afar. You see, Jones, I know what my daughter thinks of me. That doesn't change the fact that she is my daughter, and I want what is best for her. So I will continue making sure she does what is best. What do I want? Well, the real question is what do I want _from you._ You're going to keep your secret, _Captain_ ," she commanded, now less than a foot in front of him. "Is that clear?"

"And what secret might that be, _your highness_?" Killian retaliated.

"You will tell _no one_ about Emma. Not her, not the newspapers, and _certainly_ not the Charmings." Regina narrowed her eyes dangerously. She lifted a palm, and a ball of glowing purple energy manifested itself. The Evil Queen's two powers—teleportation, and energy manipulation. She was one of the only known energy manipulators—which was the most common power to have, though not usually that useful—to have a complete control over her power. It should have terrified Killian. It didn't.

"You mean her _real_ parents?" He egged her on, incited her frustration.

The ball of energy grew to the size of a rather large apple. " _I_ am her mother, Jones, and you will do well to remember that."

"Which one is it, lass? Should I remember it, or should I not tell anyone?"

Regina threw the ball of energy, and Killian hardly ducked in time to avoid it. It grazed the back of his neck, left a searing burn, and boomeranged back into her hand. Regina looked at him, smug, while he glowered down at her.

"Consider yourself warned, Jones. I have some friends in very dark places, and I _will_ know if you tell anyone…our little secret. Stay out of my daughter's life, mind your own business, and everything will be fine. If you don't…" She gave Killian a dark smile and laughed humorlessly. Her laughter stayed in the room, soaking in the walls, until long after she'd transported herself out of the room.

Killian sat down at his desk slowly, placing his head in his hands. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've got my plan on how to incorporate Henry, and we'll be hearing of him very soon. You guys had some great ideas, thank you so much for your input!

Okay, I have justified this long A/N by writing the long chapter, which is about the length I wish to write from here on out. Also, is anyone opposed to a Red Beauty side pairing? I really want to write it for this fic.

So glad that one reviewer has decided that this is their new favorite fanfic! That made me so happy to read :)

(And honestly, I can't wait to see where I'm going with this).

To the two other Guest reviewers: Okay, I totally see your points with the strain and the weirdness for not having another kid thing. But the way I was seeing it, is in one scenario (canon) they _sent_ Emma through the wardrobe, in a completely valid effort to get her to a better place, a place where she would have a better chance and would actually get to grow up instead of being killed/being a baby forever or whatever EQ had planned. And then, the next thing they knew, she was back, albeit a lot older. And then they gave her up again, knowing she would not remember them and was therefore better off with Henry. Commence the baby-making.

In the other scenario (D&L) they have had their child stolen away from them in the middle of the night. They didn't know where she went. They didn't even know if she was dead or not. That's bound to leave them a bit more traumatized and adverse to the baby-making. (In my opinion, though I totally understand where you are coming from).

About Snowing; one of the reasons why I am writing this story is to explore the Charming family, and Snowing is a _huge_ part of the Charming family. I know I don't write the best Snowing, so if anyone wants to give me advice, please, be welcome. You can PM me so we can discuss it in better depth (would love this) or you could simply leave a review with suggestions. I want to work on my Snowing in this story, want to portray them as just as much in love as they are in canon, so it would really be helpful.

Captain Swan…well, I probably should erase the 'Captain Swan' out of the summary because, ultimately, this story is going to be about the Charming Family. Emma isn't even going to really start interacting with Killian for another few chapters, and trust me when I say she isn't going to be very cordial with him. I don't intend to lift CS up by standing on Snowing, but again, I would love suggestions when writing them.

Let it be known that I am _very_ anti-Neal. I'm not, however, anti-Baelfire, and so I am choosing to write Baelfire as a character instead of Neal.

Anyways, thank you all for reading!

-Ashlee Frame


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Unnamed Babies, Exhaustive Power Training, and Lengthy Outings**

Emma was pacing.

Ursula. The freaking sea witch was her first assignment. Emma had heard all about the watery witch from her mother, who adored lecturing Emma about all of the different ways that superheroes and their super-villain counterparts were to be feared.

Her fear of superheroes and villains had, unfortunately, manifested itself in the presence of the great Shepherd, who had been in hiding for almost as long as Emma had been alive. For some reason, he had seen fit to make an appearance on the very same day that Emma just so happened to have been recruited on. She'd nearly fainted in Blue's office upon seeing him. The masked man had been the subject of _many_ of Emma's nightmares. Her mother had told Emma _all_ about the Shepherd and his powers.

Emma just hoped she would never have to see him again.

Logically, Emma knew what a great person the Shepherd was—she had heard all of the admirable stories from her friends, had heard all about his triumphs, and the triumphs of his partner White Out. All throughout her time in elementary school she had heard their brave stories. But the tales never could reconcile in her mind with the image her mother had painted of the superheroes. And unfortunately, the stories her mother told her were the ones that had taken root.

Graham—the invisible man who'd broken in to Emma's room—was due to be picking Emma up any minute, and Emma was nervous as hell. She was in costume, praying that neither David nor Mary Margaret tried opening the door. She was ready to vomit. It would certainly be difficult to explain why Emma was wearing the decorated outfit.

 _Oh jeez,_ Emma groaned. _I probably look like an absolute idiot._

She couldn't sit down anywhere—Belle had made herself fairly clear on that account. If Emma tried to sit down on anything, she would invariably ruin both the metal feathers and whatever she tried to sit on. So she was left pacing her room back and forth, hugging her stomach in an attempt to soothe her nerves.

"Emma Mills," a deep voice intoned.

Directly behind her.

Emma gave a start, but kept herself from shrieking.

"Pleasure to meet you," he continued in an effortless voice. "My name is Graham."

Emma whirled around, her blonde hair whipping into the man's face. He was taller and bulkier than she'd imagined, had a five-o'clock shadow of golden brown hair, and curly hair that touched the tops of his ears. His skin was tanned; his eyes were locked on Emma's with a startlingly grave seriousness.

"Hi," Emma responded lamely.

He smiled. Emma blushed.

"Shall we," Graham asked, gesturing with one hand towards Emma's window.

Emma quirked an eyebrow, but followed him onto the fire escape. She took the hand he offered, and waited for something magical to happen. And waited. And waited.

After a few minutes, Emma cleared her throat nervously. "Is something…supposed to happen?" She asked, hesitating. Was something _happening_ that she just didn't realize?

"You should be transporting us to headquarters. That was one of your powers, was it not?" Graham looked down at her with one raised eyebrow.

Emma shook her head, a frown settling on her face. "No?"

Graham frowned as well. But then he shrugged. "Well, it looks like we're walking."

"Won't someone see us…?" Emma trailed off when Graham suddenly disappeared before her eyes—as did her own body. "Well, that settles that," she sighed, following the tug of Graham's hand.

* * *

Killian was pacing.

Was it better to lie? Should he do exactly as the Evil Queen wanted, play right into her manicured claws like a good little marionette? And, in the process, betray his best mate, the person who had not only helped him see the light, but had assisted him in staying on the _path_ of light?

Or was it better to risk David and Mary Margaret's safety—and potentially Emma's—so that they could finally reunite with their long-lost daughter?

 _They're already, technically, reunited with the lass_ , Killian tried to reason with himself. _Their family is now complete. Even if they don't know it, they're together. Isn't that what they've wanted anyways?_

It was a flimsy argument, and Killian knew it. But he just _couldn't, he wouldn't, he refused to_ put his friends in danger like that. He would…he would just have to stay away from them, pretend to keep up his search for Dave, and hope that the truth didn't come to light until he could figure out what to do about the Evil Queen. He needed some leverage, something that would keep the Evil Queen off of the Shepherd and White Out's scent, without threatening the lives of David and Mary Margaret.

Yes, that's what he would do. He would find something—without the use of his powers, of course—that would incriminate Regina. He wasn't the best investigative reporter in Boston for nothing, after all.

With a relieved smile, Killian sat down at his desk and emailed David that the eastern seaboard Emma's hadn't panned out, and he would have to start looking further west. With that finished, he left his office—it was nearly lunchtime, he might as well get an early start on his break.

While strolling down the sidewalk, Killian abruptly bumped into something. He cursed, feeling a cut open up on his leg. Glancing down, he was shocked to see that his leather pants—which were fairly thick, and hard to cut through—were shredded in several different areas along his thigh. Underneath, there were several shallow cuts, all bleeding.

"Sorry!" A high female voice exclaimed. Killian whirled around, but for the life of him he couldn't spot what—or who—he had run into.

Shrugging it off, Killian continued on his way with a frown.

* * *

David was pacing.

He'd just received an email from Killian letting him know that the Emma Mills profiles had not panned out, and he would have to spread his search further west. It didn't make _sense._ David _knew_ that Emma was his daughter; he could feel it in his bones. All the doubt—what little there had been—had fled his mind the night before at dinner.

 _They were all seated in the living room as usual. Emma was curled up in the lazy boy, balancing her salad bowl on her thigh, her plate of homemade pizza on the arm of the chair, her glass of pop squished between her calf and the back of her thigh. Mary Margaret and David were seated together on the couch. David was seated closest to the arm of the couch, his salad almost non-existent next to the large slice of pizza he had. Mary Margaret was pressed against his side, her larger salad making up for David's lack thereof. She was sitting in the same position as Emma—her legs were curled to her side, and she was using them as a cup-holder._

 _"Twenty bucks says she falls in love with the pirate by the end of the movie," Emma wagered, gesturing to the waiflike female on the screen with her free hand._

 _"You don't have any money to bet." David shook his head._

 _"That's how sure I am." Emma laughed, nearly spilling her salad._

 _"There is no way the princess is going to fall in love with the pirate," Mary Margaret argued good-naturedly, sounding appalled at the very idea. "She's hardly spared him a glance, and anyways, she's already betrothed to the prince."_

 _"Betrothals can be broken," Emma reasoned. "And she doesn't_ need _to spare him a glance—look at the chemistry they have!" But Mary Margaret was shaking her head._

 _Through a mouthful of pizza, David offered "Okay, if she falls in love with him, we'll do the dishes tonight. But if she stays with the prince, you do the dishes for the_ week _."_

 _"That's hardly a fair bet." Emma thought for a moment. "If I win, I_ also _get the last slice of cheesecake that's in the fridge."_

 _"Deal," David quickly agreed. It was a great deal; Mary Margaret was making more cheesecake the next day, anyways. And knowing Mary Margaret, the new pie would be even better than the last._

 _They all settled down again, finished their meals while eagerly awaiting the end of the movie. Emma's smile steadily grew brighter, as the princess and the pirate shared smiles, stories, and laughter. David's smile grew as well—he didn't care about the bet, he was just glad that he could put that smile on her face. He was doing it by losing, but it didn't seem to matter to him. He looked down at Mary Margaret, snuggled happily against his side._

This is my family _, he thought, suddenly so very, very sure._

 _When he lost, and the princess and the pirate confessed their undying love, David couldn't find it within himself to feel the loss._

After that, there was no doubt left in his mind. Emma was _theirs_. It was in the easy banter, the similarities Emma shared with both David and Mary Margaret that had him convinced. Her eyes, her ears, her smile, her hair—it was all familiar; it all reminded him of himself, of Mary Margaret. Her laughter gave him pride, her tears made his heart break. He worried for her more than he would a normal roommate, and he knew that Mary Margaret did too. It was, frankly, _ridiculous_ that it had taken him so long to finally come to the full realization.

But he couldn't mention anything about it, and it frustrated the hell out of him. If only he could tell Mary Margaret—they didn't even have to let Emma know until they were sure, but it felt like such a betrayal to keep Mary Margaret out of the loop. It didn't just _feel_ like a betrayal—it _was_ a betrayal, and it was tearing David up inside. But he didn't know what would be worse; telling her the great news and never finding the proof, or not telling her until he found proof, and knowing that he was living with this lie.

 _Mary Margaret would want to know_ , he reasoned. Emma was her daughter, too—Mary Margaret had a _right_ to know.

Firm in his decision, David turned, and headed into the kitchen where Mary Margaret was working on a cheesecake.

She was not in the kitchen.

Frowning, David called out her name.

"I'm in the bathroom," Mary Margaret called back, her voice shaky. She didn't sound normal—David rushed to the bathroom, to find Mary Margaret leaning against the counter. There was a thin white plastic stick in her hands—David recognized it to be a pregnancy test.

Mary Margaret was looking at him. A thousand different emotions were flitting across her face.

David felt like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff, and a few words from Mary Margaret would send him toppling over the edge. Slowly, Mary Margaret turned the pregnancy test around, so David could see the results—

It was positive.

David let out a breath, and took Mary Margaret into his arms. He could feel her shudder against him, and he pulled her closer. Her heart was beating against his chest, a reassuring pulse. They stood that way for how long, David didn't know. Both were wrapped up in their emotions—David couldn't tell _what_ he was feeling, but there was definitely a mix of trepidation and happiness. But now…would now be the time to tell her what he thought—to tell her what he knew? David took a deep breath, pulling away just enough so that he could look her in the eye.

And… she looked so _happy_ , elated even. Her cheeks were glowing; her eyes were wide and hopeful. David felt his heart beat stronger just looking at her and her excitement. He felt his lips lifting into a smile in response.

"I'm pregnant," Mary Margaret whispered, resting her forehead on his chest. David exhaled. _No_ , he decided. _Now is not the time to tell her._

* * *

Emma was certainly being put through her paces.

Once she and Graham had arrived—finally—at the SG headquarters, Emma was ushered to the training room, where Belle was waiting. The other woman had quickly put Emma's hair in a cute wrap-around hairstyle, so there was a braided crown of hair across her forehead, citing that Emma would thank her for it later. Emma had thanked her then and there—growing up, her hair had been pulled far too many times to count.

As soon as that was over, however, Emma started training.

Graham had eased her in gradually, starting with a light jog around the track. The light jog turned into a serious jog, turned into full-out sprinting as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. After an hour of running, sweaty and exhausted, they'd started sparring.

Emma was allowed a ten minute break to regain her strength, and then Graham set about teaching her the proper fighting stances. Since her power wasn't hands on, he didn't go into very much detail, and instead spent most of the time teaching her how to aim. That's when the power training actually started. For someone whose only ability was invisibility, Graham sure knew a lot about aiming with physical powers. By lunchtime, the light was poking at Emma like pin-needles at her extremities. It was ready for recompense.

"Enough!" Emma exclaimed angrily, lifting her hands up in defense as Graham threw another basketball at her face. Her light shield went up for a split second, only _barely_ long enough to block the ball before it dropped pathetically.

She was exhausted, mentally and physically. She could _feel_ that her body was ready to disappear, for the light to take its toll on her, but she wasn't ready god _damn_ it. She had to fight it until she was somewhere safe, somewhere she could collapse and vanish without waking up like she had last time she'd used her powers.

"Wrong; do it again." Graham demanded, and whirled back to his starting position. He didn't have a second power—invisibility was _supposed_ to be his only superpower. But Emma _certainly_ didn't think it was human, the way he practically _flew_ across the training mats. And he had the endurance of a freaking…Olympic runner. Or something else that had a lot of endurance.

"I can't," Emma grit out, pressing her arms against her thighs. Hearing the _shink_ of the metal bending, Emma quickly straightened, slightly guilty, but too tired to care that she may have just ruined the expensive materials.

"You can, and you will. Do you think Ursula is going to give you a break when fighting? Do you think _any_ villain is going to just let you take a little rest?"

"You don't understand," Emma huffed, ready to collapse. She was half-tempted just to strip the skirt off then and there so that she could fall to the ground and rest in peace. "My power—it has consequences, using it. I can't hold it off any longer, I just can't."

Graham eyed her doubtfully. But then his eyes widened—Emma looked down at herself. She was starting to fade. Whirling around, Graham strode purposefully to his backpack. He fished out a water bottle filled with a thick, blue liquid, and tossed it to Emma.

"Drink that," he ordered.

Emma didn't need to be told twice. Without questioning what the liquid was, Emma unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of the drink. It tasted like pomegranates and rotten eggs. Emma grimaced, but took another drink anyways. When she'd downed the whole bottle, she looked at Graham expectantly.

He was frowning, eyeing Emma's still-fading body. "I don't understand—"

Emma never got to hear what Graham didn't understand. Closing her eyes, she fell backwards into the void that was her power-sleep.

* * *

"Where do you think she is?" David wondered from his position by the window. He'd been standing vigil since ten o'clock in hopes of seeing the instant Emma entered their building. It was nearing midnight, and Emma still wasn't around. Mary Margaret was worried, too, but she tried to keep a calming persona, so that her husband wouldn't worry as much.

She shrugged. In her most reassuring voice, Mary Margaret said "She's a teenager, David, I'm sure she's at some college party, or hanging out with her friends. Come sit down with me."

David sighed, turning his back on the window. His face was hidden in shadows, but Mary Margaret knew that he was frowning. One hand resting on her stomach, she used the other to pat the seat beside her on the couch. Semi-reluctantly, David strode towards her and took a seat by her side.

"I should go look for her," David mumbled half-heartedly.

"You should go to sleep," Mary Margaret corrected. "We could both use some sleep. Emma's a big girl; she can handle herself."

"Admit it, you're worried too," David answered, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

Mary Margaret chose not to respond. She _was_ worried, of course she was worried. She felt as close to Emma as she did David, and if anything happened to her…well, Mary Margaret would have a hard time not putting on her suit. If it fit nowadays, anyways. But there was no use worrying when it hadn't even been a full day since she'd left the house. It wasn't uncommon for teenagers to stay out late. Sure, Emma wasn't like most teenagers, but that didn't mean that she had no social life whatsoever.

Instead, she snuggled into David's side, crossing her legs. David wasn't going to budge on the issue, it seemed, so they would both just have to sit up for Emma to come home. Tomorrow was Sunday; there was no harm in staying up late.

"Leopold," Mary Margaret murmured suddenly. "I think we should name him Leopold, after my father."

David shifted. "If he's a girl?"

"He's not," Mary Margaret replied, tilting her head up slightly. She could see David's eyes glittering in the lowlight. She stretched a bit to kiss his scruffy jaw, and then went back to resting her head on his chest. "He's a boy, I can feel it." _Just like I could feel that Emma was a girl…_

"Well, boy or not, we're not naming our son _Leopold_ ," David snorted.

Mary Margaret was instantly on the defense. "What's wrong with Leopold? It's a good name, fit for a king!"

At this, David laughed. Hearing his laugh, Mary Margaret couldn't help but share a smile. _Okay, maybe Leopold is a bit ridiculous for baby boys these days._ "He'll certainly be treated like a prince," David agreed. "But I think we should wait to find out the gender before trying out names."

Mary Margaret agreed, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Stuck their thoughts, all they could do was wait for Emma to show up.

* * *

The bed was uncomfortable beneath her, and cold. Emma turned, hoping to find a more comfortable position—and yelped in pain as one of her hands got caught on something sharp and painful. Sitting up quickly, Emma stuck the offending side of her palm in her mouth, surprised by the warm gush of blood that she was forced to swallow in response.

Whimpering, Emma opened her eyes wide, and tried to gain her bearings.

It wasn't a bed she was lying on; it was the training mat she had collapsed onto when she'd vanished. And it _wasn't_ comfortable. There was a pounding headache starting up behind her eyelids, her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton—and tasted like it too.

"Emma, are you all right?" Belle asked. Her familiar Australian accent soothed Emma's frazzled nerves. "Here, let me bandage that for you. Looks like I'll have to make you some new feathers."

"Sorry," Emma mumbled around her hand.

"I am at fault," another accented voice came from above. Emma looked up to see the invisible man leaning against the nearest wall, a guilty expression lighting his features. His bronze curls looked mussed, and his clothes were sagging against his muscled frame with old sweat. Emma wondered how long she'd been out _this_ time.

Belle was back quickly with some gauze and disinfectant. She made quick work of Emma's hand.

"Thank you," Emma said, smiling gratefully. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly one in the morning. Are you normally…gone…for such a lengthy period of time?" A third voice joined the group. Emma turned around to see Blue practically floating into the training room. Emma glanced around, finally noting that the yellow lights were on in the room, and the windows revealed only inky darkness outside. There was a chill to the air that hadn't been there while Emma was training, and everyone around her looked exhausted. Emma herself felt ready to collapse into sleep again—but she _really_ needed to get home. Heaven only knew how much heat she would get for being out so late from David and Mary Margaret.

"I don't know—this is only the second time I've used them in nine years. I would have expected to be out for longer, I guess, given how much I used my powers—but I guess not." Emma frowned. She'd used her powers over light for longer than an hour at a near _constant_ rate. She really should have been asleep for at least a day, if not longer. _I should count myself lucky_ , Emma thought, even though she was slightly mystified.

"So the power potion _did_ work," Blue responded in a thoughtful tone. "But her powers must use up far more energy than we originally calculated. Graham—have Granny make more of the potion, but have Nova assist her with the recipe. Try to tweak it so that it's more concentrated. Belle, please help Swan change and escort her home safely. Swan, I expect you to be here tomorrow around the same time in plainclothes. You are all dismissed."

After her speech, the short woman turned, her chestnut hair whirling around her as she strode out of the room purposefully. Emma had no clue how such a petite woman could command such power, but she had to respect Blue for that.

Belle ushered Emma out of the training room, her red wedges clapping against the blue and white tiled floor. Emma practically had to jog to keep up, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. She _really_ needed some sleep. And some food. She wouldn't say no to a slice of pizza right now. Or the entire pie.

Belle kept up a constant chatter while they walked, telling Emma about how cool it was that she was doing this, and how she'd almost managed to keep up an energy ball for a full minute before it fizzled out. Belle told Emma about some books that she thought Emma would enjoy and about a new café downtown that they should _totally_ check out, if Emma was free sometime soon.

It was nice, the almost instant camaraderie that Emma felt with Belle. She'd never really had any friends—her mother had seen to that, warning Emma against the evils of other people, and scaring off those who'd dared approach her. But…well, like she said; it was nice. Emma found herself making plans to hang out at the new café, agreeing to check out the books, and before she knew it, she was dressed in some plainclothes that the SG had available for the superheroes, and was nearly at her apartment.

"I can take it from here," Emma said when she was half a block from home. She could imagine that David, or Mary Margaret, or both were waiting up for her, and didn't want the questions that would come along with showing up with a new friend. "Thank you for walking with me. See you Tuesday!"

Belle smiled softly, her cheeks dimpling. "See you Tuesday, Emma."

Emma waited until Belle was out of sight, and then hurried into the building and up the elevator. She was tired in her _bones_ , and definitely not looking forward to answering to David and Mary Margaret. She loved them like family, and she hated having to lie to them.

 _Maybe they gave up and went to sleep…?_ Emma hoped idly, sliding her key into the doorknob only to find it was unlocked.

No such luck. Their heads simultaneously snapped towards the door when Emma entered.

Mary Margaret was curled into David, obviously tired. David was sitting stoically, though he had a certain slump to his shoulders as well. Emma felt guilt settle in.

"Sorry!" Emma whispered, closing the door and locking it behind her. Before either could start to question her, Emma hurriedly said "Can we talk in the morning? I'm really exhausted."

"That's fine," Mary Margaret answered before David could. "We are exhausted too. Good night, Emma."

Emma nodded her goodnight, and shuffled into her room, where she promptly collapsed on her bed.

It had been a long day.

* * *

Meredith du Lac watched the rippling lake with melancholy eyes. Her heart was heavy; the anniversary of her mother's death was never a happy occasion for her. Sitting by the lake where her she'd been drowned was a special sort of punishment for her…but Meredith couldn't help herself. It had been _ten years_ , yet the hurt had never faded. It didn't help that her death had been entirely Meredith's fault. But she couldn't stop the fact that she was evil…that she was, in fact, Ursula.

"You know, darling," Eleanor spoke, coming to stand behind Meredith. Her accent smoothed over the r, making the word come out as 'dahling.' "Wallowing does nothing. Your efforts would be far more useful in trying to find the killer—and destroying any _hero_ who would have you punished."

"Go away, Cruella." Meredith intoned quietly. "Leave me in peace."

"You, in peace?" Eleanor's voice was tinged with mocking humor. "Hardly. Especially now that I know who they've sent after you this time…"

Meredith stood up and turned, so her face only an inch away from Eleanor's. "What do you know, _Cruella_?" Her voice was low and threatening. Eleanor smirked.

"They've sent a bird after a fish—the Golden Swan, they're calling her." Eleanor rolled her grey eyes, clearly nonplussed with the nomination. "Do you want help clipping her pretty little wings?"

"If I wanted help, I would ask Mal—not you, _dog whisperer_." Meredith sneered, turning away from the thin woman. Eleanor sniffed, and tossed her fur wrap over her shoulder.

" _Fine_ ," she spat, clearly offended. "If you don't want me help, that's your problem. But don't come crawling back to me, darling, when you find yourself in need of _help_." And with that, she started stalking off.

"I won't!" Meredith called back amicably. She heard another scoff come from Eleanor's direction, and she heard no more.

Sitting back down, Meredith continued with her lake-watching. Beneath the surface, there was a beautiful world churning with life. Meredith imagined that she looked like the lake; on the surface, she was calm and collected. But underneath, she was stewing. If the Superheroes Guild thought they could take her down with some pathetic new blood, they had another think coming.

No way was this _Swan girl_ going to be taking Ursula anywhere anytime soon.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello, and thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

To the guest reviewers: Yes, I am so excited to explore the Charming family relationships further, and to see Emma sort of 'grow' into herself! Snow is not more powerful than David, and David is not more powerful than Snow. It would probably help if you knew all of everyone's powers, but I'm kind of delaying that for dramatic tension reasons, but their powers will be revealed eventually, and I promise that David's powers are epic. He isn't called 'the Shepherd' because he tends to sheep, let me tell you ;)

I am sorry to see that I lost a reader because of this, but I hope that if they decide to come back, they will not be disappointed!

So, Emma's power-sleep will be a recurring thing for a couple of chapters, but I will try and make it so it doesn't get _too_ annoying or damsel-in-distress-y. Let me know if I'm going overboard with it though, please.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, let me know what you think, and if there is anyone/anything you would like to see in this story! I'm kind of hoping that I will be able to eke out a 100k+ word epic out of this, so we'll see where we can take this! Thank you all for reading; I hope you're having wonderful weeks!

-Ashlee Frame


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